78 
Hyacinth. — ‘ Grief ," 1 1 Despondency .’ 
The fabulous origin of this beautiful flower is too familiar to all 
to be repeated here. But who has not, like Apollo, grieved over the 
death or absence of a Hyacinth. 
’Tis vain — ’tis vain — I cannot find 
In music, flowers, or books, a charm 
To soothe my heart, or yield my mind 
The joy once quick and warm, 
That in each pulse, through every tone, 
Proclaimed my bosom pleasure’s throne. 
I cannot feel as once I felt, 
But own contempt for most I find; 
Too surely was the arrow dealt, 
Which poisoned heart and mind; 
It changed the last in every tone, 
And almost turned the first to stone! 
w 
